“If I’m The Mother Of The Girls, I Don’t Remember A Husband.” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Copyright

“If I’m The Mother Of The Girls, I Don’t Remember A Husband.”

Micah groaned. A flare of attraction passed between them, and he didn’t want any complications with a married woman. So out here in the wild, he would assume he had Raffaela Granillo—married mother of two.

But when he saw tendrils of auburn hair had escaped her braid, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and tucking them behind her ear.

Micah’s warm touch quickly brushed her skin, and she looked at him. His dark eyes studied her, and beneath his gaze, she felt her pulse jump. What was there about him that was so disturbing? He was doing nothing more than looking at her. For a moment she thought he was going to lean down and kiss her. And, heaven help her, she wanted him to.

Upset, she struggled to conjure up memories of a home...of a husband....

Dear Reader,

I know you’ve all been anxiously awaiting the next book from Mary Lynn Baxter—so wait no more. Here it is, the MAN OF THE MONTH, Tight-Fittin’ Jeans. Mary Lynn’s books are known for their sexy heroes and sizzling sensuality...and this sure has both! Read and enjoy.

Every little girl dreams of marrying a handsome prince, but most women get to kiss a lot of toads before they find him. Read how three handsome princes find their very own princesses in Leanne Banks’s delightful new miniseries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS. The fun begins this month with The Five-Minute Bride.

The other books this month are all so wonderful...you won’t want to miss any of them! If you like humor, don’t miss Maureen Child’s Have Bride, Need Groom. For blazing drama, there’s Sara Orwig’s A Baby for Mommy. Susan Crosby’s Wedding Fever provides a touch of dashing suspense. And Judith McWilliams’s Practice Husband is warmly emotional.

There is something for everyone here at Desire! I hope you enjoy each and every one of these love stories.

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

US.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Eric, Ont. L2A 5X3

A Baby For Mommy

Sara Orwig

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SARA ORWIG

lives with her husband and children in Oklahoma. She has a patient husband who will take her on research trips anywhere from big cities to old forts. She is an avid collector of Western history books. With a master’s degree in English, Sara writes historical romance, mainstream fiction and contemporary romance. Books are beloved treasures that take Sara to magical worlds, and she loves both reading and writing them.

To Maureen Walters, with many thanks

Prologue

Rachel Webster kept a smile in place as she fell through one-hundred feet of space. Then the private jet leveled as it flew between blue storm clouds that rose like mountains on either side of the plane, hiding the canopy of trees below.

A tiny hand squeezed Rachel’s, and she looked down at her one-year-old niece.

“Don’t like shake,” Angelica said.

“It’s the big clouds around us that make the plane jiggle. We’ll be past them soon,” Rachel replied cheerfully, while the child gazed at her with wide, solemn eyes. Rachel was determined to do whatever she could to calm her little niece and offset the nervousness of the child’s mother. When they’d hit the turbulence, Angelica had cried and wanted into Rachel’s lap, and Raffaela had insisted that’s where she should be. Rachel had simply buckled Angelica in with her and held her tightly.

“Dammit, I hate storms,” Raffaela snapped.

Rachel glanced across the aisle at her twin sister. Raffaela’s three-year-old, Sophie, was climbing onto her mother’s lap.

“Raffaela, buckle Sophie into her seat,” Rachel said.

“Sit down, Sophie.” Raffaela reached up to smooth her own glossy auburn hair, looped and pinned on top of her head in an intricate twist. The eight-carat diamond on her hand glinted in the light along with a smaller diamond ring on her little finger. The bloodred ruby pendant gleamed malevolently at her throat.

Sophie tugged at the pendant. “I want Aunt Rachel to wear it,” she begged.

Raffaela unfastened the necklace and handed it to the girl. “Now go sit with your aunt,” she said.

Sophie scampered across the aisle. Rachel caught her up and buckled her into the seat next to her. “You need to stay buckled up.”

“Put this on,” the child pleaded as the plane bounced.

“Okay,” Rachel said, wanting to keep Sophie safely buckled. Shifting her straight hair to one side, she took the ruby pendant Sophie held out to her and fastened it around her neck.

Rachel thought of home. Even though she lived at Raffaela’s home in Bolivia a good part of the year now, she still called Houston home, and in three years, when both the girls were in boarding school, she would return to get a doctorate and hopefully a teaching position at the university. Until then, she had agreed to be nanny for her two nieces.

“Dammit, I think we should turn around and go back!” Raffaela cried.

“I’ll talk to Jose.” In the seat in front of Rachel, Burr Brogan unbuckled his seat belt and stood, unfolding his six-foot seven-inch frame carefully as he went forward to talk to the small dark-haired pilot, Jose Escajedo. Raffaela’s Bolivian husband, Hector Granillo, had hired Jose years earlier, and Rachel knew Hector had great confidence in the pilot’s flying ability.

Just as he had confidence in Burr’s ability to serve as a family bodyguard. Rachel felt the man’s blue eyes on her as he returned, and she looked down at one-year-old Angelica and smoothed the toddler’s red hair. Rachel disliked Burr’s brashness. Often when they were alone, he suggested going out together—which she had no inclination to do. Lately, he’d become quite pushy.

Burr paused in the aisle between Rachel and Raffaela.

“Jose thinks it will be better to keep going. The storm is all around us. It won’t help to turn around. We’re already over Central America now. Jose’s altering course and doing the best he can.”

“Are we going to crash?” Sophie asked, her brown eyes wide.

“No, sweetie,” Rachel replied, while the plane bounced violently. “There’s a bit of roughness because of rain clouds.”

Angelica gazed up at Rachel with wide eyes. Sophie had her father’s dark brown eyes while Angelica had inherited her mother’s green eyes.

Burr leaned down to whisper in Raffaela’s ear. “Move over, babe. I’ll hold your hand.”

Rachel clamped her lips together. All their lives Raffaela had been the wild and daring one, and Rachel had accepted it. But after marrying Hector and having the two girls, Raffaela’s flirting was starting to disturb Rachel. She worried about the girls, thankful that they were too young to know the significance of their bodyguard buckling up in the seat beside their mother and taking her hand in his.

The plane bounced, and Raffaela snatched her hand away from Burr. “Dammit, can’t Jose do something!”

Rain began to pour over the plane, closing off the view of the clouds surrounding them. They were wrapped in gray and rocking violently.

“I scared!” Angelica exclaimed, hugging Rachel.

“We’re all right, love. Let’s get one of your books, and I’ll read you a story—”

A bolt of lightning struck with a bang like an explosion. With a blinding flash it rippled along the fuselage. Flames shot out from a wing, and the engine whined loudly.

Raffaela screamed while the nose of the plane tilted. Angelica’s thin arms clung tightly to Rachel. Sophie began to cry. “Aunt Rachel, I’m scared!”

“Get your heads down!” Jose yelled from the front of the plane. “We’re going down.”

With her heart pounding violently, Rachel wound one hand as tightly as possible around Angelica, leaning over the girl, while she put her other arm across Sophie’s shoulders. Praying, she clung to them while the girls sobbed.

The engine began to whine, and Rachel could feel Sophie shaking. Wishing she could protect them completely, she tightened her arms around the girls.

With a jolt and a deafening sound of metal ripping, the plane tore through the trees. As it rocked and bounced, Raffaela’s screams blended with the noise of metal tearing.

Suddenly there was a bang and an enormous jolt and everything went black.

Rachel regained consciousness. The interior of the plane was twisted and smoky; rain hissed over it and lightning flashed. The cockpit and Jose had totally disappeared. There was only thick green vegetation and trees where it had been. Memory returned to her and with it came panic. Rachel knew they had to get out of the plane.

Both girls squirmed, and Sophie sat up. “Thank heavens!” Rachel gasped, relief making her weak when she saw the girls were all right. Sophie had a cut across her forehead, but it looked superficial. Both were sobbing, and Angelica clung to Rachel.

“We have to get out,” Rachel exclaimed. Terrified that the plane might catch fire, she fumbled with Sophie’s seat belt and then her own. As she stood, she glanced at Burr who was leaning over an inert Raffaela.

“Get her out, Burr. Hurry! I’ll get the girls.”

Leaving her own purse behind, Rachel grabbed the bag with the girls’ clothing, Angelica’s bottles and cans of formula. Realizing they might have to wait to be found, Rachel yanked down her own carry-on.

Picking up Angelica and the bags, Rachel tugged Sophie behind her, going toward the gaping hole in the side of the plane. “Wait, love,” she said to Sophie and tossed out the bags. Then she climbed down onto a smashed tree and set Angelica beside her.

In spite of the rain, flames had begun to burn beneath the wing and belly of the plane. “Burr, the plane’s on fire. Get out!” she shouted again, grabbing Sophie out of the wreckage. Tumbling down over branches, ignoring scrapes, Rachel reached the ground.

She lifted the girls down one at a time. Slinging the bags over her shoulder, she picked up Angelica and grasped Sophie’s hand. Smoke burned her eyes, and terror gripped her, because she knew the plane could explode.

Rachel tried to run, but she found the bags cumbersome, so she tossed away her carryon. She scooped up Sophie instead. As she ran, vines, ferns and palmetto fronds tore at her. She glanced back to see Burr carrying Raffaela over his shoulder as he climbed out of the plane.

Rachel was fifty yards from the plane when it exploded. The deafening blast knocked her off her feet and sent a fireball rolling skyward. Heat seared her, and the flash of light was like a bolt of lightning.

She fell, the breath knocked from her momentarily as she scrambled to get the girls, who were sobbing wildly.

“Aunt Rachel! Help!”

She tried to cover both of them, holding them close against her body while parts of the plane rained down over them. Something struck the back of her thigh, and she cried out. Hot metal stung her shoulder.

And then quiet descended, broken by the crackle of the burning plane and the girls’ sobbing. The rain had suddenly stopped, now just lightly dripping from the trees. A shard of glass stuck out of Rachel’s arm and she pulled it free. She brushed bits of glass and metal from Sophie’s curly black hair.

Moving carefully, she tried to stand, biting back a cry as pain shot up the back of her leg. The smaller cuts stung, and she ached where metal had struck her, but nothing seemed broken. “Sophie—”

Something slammed against the back of her head. Dimly, Rachel heard Sophie screaming. Pain enveloped her, and then blackness closed in as she pitched forward.

One

Micah Drake gave a thumbs up sign to the pilot and slid open the door of the plane. Wind whipped against him as he looked below at the brilliant green canopy of treetops in the tiny country of Cruz in Central America. It was a bad place for a plane to go down. It was a damned bad place for him. He didn’t like this job or want it, but he needed the money. And he owed an old buddy from the military—Luke Webster had saved Micah’s life once in a clandestine operation in Saudi Arabia, and Micah was going to repay the favor now in a jungle in Central America.

Luke’s father, Atlee Webster, had put up the money for the search for his two daughters and his grandchildren. Luke had wheedled, bribed and finally reminded Micah that he owed him one. But the convincing offer had come when Luke had promised Micah double his usual fee plus paying Micah’s future medical bills for his mom.

Luke had come to his office, blond, cocky as ever, leaning against the desk as Micah had stood in front of the window. “Think of the money, Micah. You can take some time off to be with your mother.”

“I’m thinking about all the times you said your one sister was a bitch,” Micah said.

“Raffaela is. Wild, bitchy, impossible. She cheats on Hector. He cheats on her. But she’s my sister and she’s got two little girls. Look at their picture, Micah.”

Micah had looked, and they were beautiful smiling little faces. “You know I don’t have any resistance when it comes to kids,” he had grumbled.

“And Rachel’s shy and nice. As sweet as the girls. She won’t give you a minute’s trouble.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Think of the money. Your bills will be paid, and you won’t have to worry about the care for your mother. Think about it.”

Micah had thought about it for a moment and had agreed to try to find the Webster women and children and bring them back to Texas.

He still had mixed emotions about the task as he looked down at the solid canopy of green below him. The small government of Cruz had made no search of their own because revolutionaries took all the official attention and resources. The Granillo pilot had lost radio contact shortly before going down. He had been fifteen miles off course, and Micah had a general idea where to search.

That morning Micah had found the downed plane. As he sped over the treetops, he had looked at the smashed trees where the plane had crashed. He circled to fly over the site several times, thinking that if there were survivors, they would try to signal. But as the trees swayed in the slipstream of his plane, no one had appeared.

He had been hoping to find them, rescue them and then get right back to Texas. It wasn’t going to be that simple.

Returning to Agapito, the coastal capital, he had phoned Luke to say he had located the crash site and promised to go back. Within the hour he made arrangements to be flown to the site again.

Now wind beat against him as he braced himself in the open door of the plane and double-checked his parachute harness. Eduardo circled the plane above the wreckage. As Micah looked down at the burned rubble, he thought about the passengers. Even though he hadn’t known any of them, he felt a wave of sickness at the loss. What hurt most was the thought of the little girls, Sophie and Angelica. He didn’t want to have to go back to Texas and tell Luke the little girls wouldn’t be coming home.

They approached the crash site the second time. Micah waved to Eduardo and received a salute in return. He saw the slash in the trees coming up. He jumped, dropping through the air, green treetops that looked as solid as the ground rushing up to meet him.

When he pulled the rip cord, the chute ballooned up behind him, yanking him up, and then he began to float toward the trees. Pulling the steering toggles on the risers, he guided his descent, watching the gash in the trees as it grew larger. The scorched ground and burned bits of plane loomed into view, and he couldn’t imagine survivors. Unless they had gotten out before the plane went up in flames or had been thrown clear.

For just an instant his stomach knotted as he thought of Shawna and the car wreck. He blanked out his thoughts, clamping his jaw closed grimly as he tried to angle down to where the plane had cut through the trees. He landed on his feet only yards from the wreckage and in seconds was out of the chute. He turned to look around him, listening as the sounds of the forest brought back memories of his years in the U.S. Army Special Forces. He hoped he hadn’t forgotten his survival skills, because he was on his own in a corner of the world that was swarming with rebel insurgents and gun smugglers. Tomorrow at noon Eduardo would return. If Micah found survivors before then, they could all get out by chopper. If he discovered all had been killed, he would have to get the bodies out. But if he couldn’t account for everyone on the plane, he was going to have to hunt for them on foot and get them back to civilization the best way he could.

Steamy heat made his body damp with sweat within minutes after dropping to earth. He could smell the earthy, rotting vegetation on the forest floor. Judging from the looks of the plane, there were no survivors. Micah poked through the wreckage, and five minutes later he changed his assessment. He couldn’t find any bodies in the burned metal.

He moved away from the charred rubble and circled it. Something caught his attention. Frowning, he crossed the clearing. A mound was covered with brush and branches and a couple of smaller tree trunks had been dragged over it. He knew he was looking at a hasty burial site before he began to clear away the brush.

He had seen many dead bodies on military assignments in hot spots in different places of the world. Some had been civilians, most had been soldiers. None had been a beautiful woman from Texas and he drew a deep breath, his stomach knotting as he finished clearing away the makeshift grave. He fished out the pictures Luke had given him.

Raffaela was a married socialite. He could remember Luke’s deep voice listing her jewelry with as much certainty as if he had presented her with each piece: an eight-carat engagement ring, a six-carat ring their father had given her, a diamond-studded gold wedding band, a ruby pendant with gold filigree, diamond stud earrings. This body bore none of the above. Rachel, the twin, seldom wore jewelry. She owned a diamond ring their father had given her upon her graduation from college, but she wore it only on special occasions.

So, Micah decided, he was looking at the body of Rachel Webster.

He thumbed through the six pictures, holding Rachel’s picture next to Raffaela’s picture. With makeup and different hairstyles, it was easy to tell one from the other. But if they had the same hair arrangement and no makeup, he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. Now—because of the wreck, the heat, and time that had passed—the quickest way to identify which twin had died was jewelry or lack of it.

“Just great,” he mumbled cynically. “If the other one is still alive, I get to save the bitch.... Focus on the little girls,” he reminded himself aloud.

Pocketing the pictures, he tossed the branches back over the body. In a few more minutes he found the pilot’s partially decomposed body.

For the next hour Micah went over every inch of the crash site, walking in ever-widening circles until he was in thick brush and trees. Lianas draped over branches and hung to the ground. Where an occasional patch of sunlight broke through the forest canopy, the vines were covered with green leaves. Butterflies looped and circled lazily, and scarlet macaws perched high in trees like bright red blossoms.

It took Micah another hour before he found a hair ribbon caught on a fern. He could detect where someone had moved through the brush, and he followed their tracks. He swore softly because they were headed deeper inland. If they had gone west, they would have had a better chance of reaching a town. Any direction they had taken, they could easily be caught in the middle of guerrilla warfare.

He prayed he could keep on their trail until he found them. He could detect where leaves were disturbed, palmetto pushed aside. In minutes he spotted a red thread caught on a frond.

An hour later he discovered where they had stopped to rest beside a murky stream. Once he realized they’d followed the stream, he could track faster. Unfortunately they were headed up the stream and by late afternoon the stream ended and their tracks moved away in the bush.

In the lush forest, night would come all at once. Keeping an eye on his watch, Micah stopped his search. After the quiet during the steamy midday heat, the trees came alive with the sounds of animals and birds. He slid off his pack, taking a long drink from his canteen. In the last light of day, he fished out the pictures again and looked at the two women, pulling up the picture of the socialite. The Bolivian industrialist had a beautiful Texan wife. Judging from the the tracks, which were growing fresher, he figured he would catch up with her tomorrow.

“I’m hungry,” the smallest girl cried.

A thick auburn braid of hair fell forward as the woman bent over and retrieved bananas to hand to each child. Two days ago they had come upon banana trees. Starving, they had picked bananas and eaten them. After they had rested, she had picked all the bananas she could carry, making a pack out of the large leaves from one of the trees. They were living on the bananas and the last of the baby formula that had survived the explosion. The carry-on had burned, but cans of formula and bottles had been salvageable and she had placed what she could in the children’s large bag.

At the sound of voices, she whirled around, her gaze searching through strangler figs, bromeliads and palms while her heart pounded in fear.

Two men appeared, their gaze raking over her boldly. Terrified, she stared at them. There was no mistaking the lust that gleamed in their dark eyes. Each man wore a holster with a pistol on his hip.

“Buenos dias,” she said, worrying about the girls. “Girls, get behind me.”

“Buenos dias, señorita,” the shortest one said. Their clothes were almost as unkempt as hers. Both wore rumpled black uniforms with boots. Muscles bulged in their arms, and she knew her strength would be no match for either of them.

“My husband will return shortly,” she said. “He is searching for game. Our plane went down,” she said in fluent Spanish.

When they grinned at her, she knew they didn’t believe her, and she wasn’t surprised.

“We have food and a house where you and your husband and children can stay,” one replied as both of them edged toward her.

There was nowhere to run, and she was terrified for the girls. If she told the girls to run and they got away, they couldn’t survive on their own in this wild land. Her mind raced for a way to get the children to safety.

The men grinned at her as they approached. She watched the stocky one who looked the stronger. She slipped the bag off her shoulder, gathering the strap in her hand. All she could think of to use for a weapon was the bag that still held cans of formula.

“I no want the pretty lady’s money,” he said, his eyes filled with lust while he watched her and moved closer. As he reached for her, she swung the bag with all her strength, holding the straps with both hands.

“Run!” she yelled to the girls.

The bag smashed against his head, sent him staggering into the other man and toppled them both to the ground.

“What the devil is going on?” came a deep voice, speaking very clear English.

Stunned, she looked around to see a dark-haired man wearing combat fatigues and boots. A pistol was in a holster on his right hip and a machete hung from his belt on his left side. In his hands was an automatic weapon that he carried with a nonchalance that said he was familiar with its use. He was only a few feet away, coming toward her.

Stepping forward, she swung the satchel again, striking him and sending him staggering back. He swore and raised his weapon as the two men fled into the trees.

Gasping for breath, she faced the man over the barrel of his rifle. Blood oozed from a cut on his temple where the bag had struck him, and he reached up, wincing as he touched his head.

“Damnation. You’re lethal, lady! You don’t need me.”

She stared at him in uncertainty. Was he a threat or would he help them? Tall and broad shouldered, he had a stubble of beard; his dark hair was pulled back and tied behind his head. There was a menacing air of command and strength about him. From his last remark, she guessed he must not have been with the other men, but still she didn’t trust him.

“Who are you?”

“Micah Drake. And you must be Raffaela Granillo,” he said while he pulled out a handkerchief, twisting it to tie it around his bloody head. His gaze rested on the ruby pendant at her throat, and she touched it hesitantly.

The girls came close behind her to tug on her slacks and peer around her at him.

“I don’t know you.” She knew her voice sounded frightened, and she took a deep breath and looked into eyes that were such a dark brown they appeared as black as their pupils. She trembled and gripped the bag, ready to swing again if she had to.

“I own Drake Security. Your brother hired me to find you and your children and your sister and get you back to Texas. Your husband is in Paris on business and he’ll meet you in Texas,” Micah explained, more gruffly than necessary, his thoughts on her. Even with her rumpled state, her torn clothes, smudges of dirt on her face and throat, she was an attractive woman with an earthy sensual air about her. Her actions confirmed that she was not the shy sister. His head pounded. And the ruby pendant confirmed her identity as Raffaela.

He looked around. “Where’s the bodyguard?” As if she needed one.

A puzzled frown furrowed her brow while she shook her head. “There’s no one else with us.”

To Micah she looked as if she didn’t know he was talking about Brogan. And she also looked as if she didn’t trust him or believe anything he had said to her. Why wasn’t she welcoming him as her rescuer? Instead, she appeared frightened and on the verge of swinging at him again.

“What the hell are you packing there?”

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking, but then she followed his glance to her bag, still dangling from her hand. She slipped it over her shoulder and lifted the baby into her arms. The child clung tightly, burrowing against her neck.

“I’m carrying cans of formula.”

He rolled his eyes as he pulled off his backpack, rummaged in it and handed her insect repellant. “I’m glad you didn’t take my head off. We’ll talk later. Use the repellant quickly and we’ll get going. Those two might have friends or change their minds and return. Also, I brought fresh socks for all of you. Clothes that get wet in this moisture just stay wet.”

Thankful for the dry socks, she helped the girls change. As she used the repellant, he opened a canteen and drank, then offered it to her. She gave the girls a drink, waiting and wondering whether to trust him and go with him or try to get away.

Was he who he said? she wondered. He was rugged and fierce. The girls were silent, and she knew they were as frightened by him as she was. Yet could she get all three of them away from him safely? While uncertainty plagued her, she saw little choice. As he watched the trees beyond her, she drank, feeling rejuvenated by the tepid water. His gaze raked over her. “Any bad injuries before we get underway? Any broken bones?”

“I have some cuts and my head hurts. I’m bruised, but I don’t have any broken bones.”

“What about the girls? Sophie? Or the baby, Angelica?”

“They have cuts and bruises, but otherwise we’re all okay.”

Replacing his canteen and repellant, he jerked his head and put the rifle in the sling on his back. “Let’s go.”

Hesitating, tempted to try to run from him, she didn’t move.

He glanced around and scowled. “Are you coming?”

Picking up the small bundle of leaves that held the remaining bananas, she shifted the baby, Angelica, and took Sophie’s hand to follow him. He strode ahead without glancing back, as if he didn’t question that she would follow and could keep up with him. He swung a machete, cutting away vines, and she heaved a sigh of relief because it looked as if he had been telling the truth.

“Mr. Drake—”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Micah. We’re going to be together a lot, Raffaela.”

“You’ll have to slow your pace,” she said to him.

He fell back and knelt down to look at Sophie.

“Will you let me carry you?” His voice was gentle, a change from the brusqueness he had shown before. Sophie’s eyes were wide with fear that Raffaela understood too well. Sophie looked up at her, and she nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Sophie whispered.

“That’s a good girl.” He swung her up in his arms and strode ahead.

In an hour he was still moving steadily through the moist, dense undergrowth. In agony Raffaela—she’d decided that name would do—straggled behind him. Angelica had fallen asleep in her arms and her deadweight was becoming a dreadful burden. With each step, searing pain raked along a gash on the back of her right thigh. The steamy heat of the tropics was suffocating. The first day she had switched to her charred sneakers and tossed away her low-heeled sandals. She had bruises that made her ache with each jolting step, and a blinding headache added to her misery. She had cuts on her shoulders and back and the backs of her legs, but it was the cut on her thigh that was hampering her walking.

She wanted to keep up with him. And she suspected if she suggested halting, she might have an argument on her hands. She looked at his broad shoulders that tapered to slender hips and long legs. His stride was as steady as it had been the moment they started. With his long hair, the bloody bandage and all his weapons, he looked like a fierce warrior in spite of Sophie asleep in his arms with her head on his shoulder. In addition to Sophie he carried a pack and the pistol on his hip and his rifle—all of which had to be heavy. In this heat she would think he would be ready for a rest.

As time passed, her leg throbbed unbearably until she knew she had to stop. Clutching Angelica, Raffaela tried to catch up with him.

“When will we stop?” She blurted out the words and wished she had said something first so she didn’t sound so desperate.

He paused and turned to look at her. She gazed into his dark eyes, feeling a fluttering inside.

“Are you hurting?”

“Yes, my leg hurts,” she replied, looking at the blood-soaked kerchief around his head. How much damage had she inflicted on him?

He set Sophie on her feet. “Show me what hurts.”

She set Angelica on the ground next to a still-sleepy Sophie, then turned around.

He swore. “You should have told me sooner how badly you’re cut. We’ll stop now.”

Still waking up, the girls mumbled quietly to themselves.

“I have a first-aid kit,” he said. “If I treat their cuts, will they start screaming?”

“Not if you’re gentle.”

“I can’t guarantee the stuff won’t sting. I don’t want a lot of noise, and I don’t want to attract attention. We’re not as far from those men as I’d like to be. There’s guerrilla fighting all through this country.”

“I can try to keep the girls quiet, or we can try to go on, but my leg hurts badly.”

“You need attention before we go farther. I’ll treat the girls’ cuts now. Just keep them quiet.”

“You just remember to be gentle,” she snapped. He looked too tough to give much thought to pain.

One dark eyebrow arched. “I’ll remember to be gentle,” he said softly, and suddenly she had a feeling he was not referring to the girls. Nodding, she called to them. “Mr. Drake is going to put some medicine on our cuts to make them better,” she said.

“I have a first-aid kit,” he explained to the girls, motioning them to come closer. “Let me get some antiseptic on your scratches, so we don’t have any infections.” He spread a canvas ground cover. “Who is going to be the big brave girl and go first?”

“Angelica, let’s start with you,” Raffaela said cheerfully, sitting on the cover. As she sat down, she groaned, biting her lip when it hurt to bend her leg. She took the child on her lap as Micah opened the metal box. Sophie came close to watch, her fingers resting on Raffaela’s arm.

“Are you a doctor?” Sophie asked him.

“No, I’m not. But I learned something about caring for wounds when I was a soldier.”

“I’ll tell you about the three bears that lived deep in the woods,” Raffaela said, trying to distract Angelica.

While she talked, Angelica never noticed the ointment Mr. Drake put on her cuts. When he finished, he touched the tip of her tiny nose with his finger. “You were a very brave patient,” he said in a tone warm enough to melt ice. Raffaela felt a fluttering response, watching him while he brushed a kiss across Angelica’s forehead.

Angelica smiled up at him and moved away cheerfully while Raffaela praised her.

“Now, Sophie,” he remarked matter-of-factly, “it’s your turn. Let’s see where the cuts are.”

“You won’t hurt me?”

“Angelica didn’t cry, did she?”

“No. But I don’t want to hurt.”

“I will try my very best not to hurt you,” he promised gently. She nodded, watching him with round, solemn eyes.

Barely listening to Raffaela’s story about three billy goats, Sophie clung tightly to Raffaela and started to cry when the antiseptic was sprayed on a cut. Raffaela’s soft voice soothed her, and in seconds Sophie was listening to the story.

As Raffaela talked to the girls about billy goats, she, herself, was barely aware of what she was saying. Micah Drake’s head was bent, only inches away as he leaned over Sophie. Dark stubble covered his jaw and throat. His sexy black lashes were thick. She looked at his dark skin, the black hair pulled behind his head.

“Good girl! We’re all through,” Micah announced, turning his head a fraction to look into Raffaela’s eyes, and her breath caught as she gazed back at him. She forgot time or place or circumstances, feeling caught in dark mysterious depths that almost seemed to hold animosity. Yet why would he dislike her?

His attention swung back to Sophie. “You were a very brave patient, too.” He leaned down to brush a kiss on her forehead. “You were a big girl.”

She smiled at him and moved away to play with Angelica while he looked at Raffaela. “Next patient. Where do we begin?”

“Before you start on my cuts, do you have anything for a headache? I took my last pill yesterday.”

He rummaged in the pack again and shook out a pill to give to her. His hand brushed hers, and his eyes narrowed. He reached out to take her hands and turn them over in his.

She was aware of the warmth of his hands. His fingers were blunt and well shaped, so much larger than hers. He leaned closer, his dark eyes studying her, and once again she felt caught in a current of tension that vibrated between them.

“Where are your wedding rings?”

She looked at her bare fingers and shook her head, biting her lips in uncertainty and glancing at the girls. “Can we talk later when they’re asleep?” she asked.

He nodded as he passed her his canteen. She gulped down the pill and handed back the canteen, watching as he took a pill and washed it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed.

“Your head hurts from my hitting you, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“It’s nothing.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and replaced the canteen. “What do I treat first?”

She held out her arm where a long cut ran from her wrist to her elbow. His hand closed gently around her wrist. The moment he touched her, he paused to flick another glance at her, his dark gaze unfathomable. He sprayed the cut and bandaged it.

“Now we’ll do the ones on your back and legs. You can use one of my shirts to cover you, but you need to strip out of those slacks for me to tend your leg. That’s a nasty gash,” Micah said calmly as he fished things out of his pack. He handed her a khaki shirt and spread his bedroll.

“I’ll turn my back. Tell me when you’re ready,” he said. Raffaela nodded and watched as he turned his back and moved a few feet away, fiddling with supplies he had in the first-aid kit. She pulled off the slacks, her breath catching as they came free where they had stuck to her torn skin. She shed her blouse and pulled on his shirt, the long tail hanging almost to her knees.

She lay down on his bedroll, stretching out on her stomach and pulling his shirt over her bottom, tugging it down as much as possible.

“Micah.”

Micah turned around to meet her gaze, which had lost all its coolness. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, and he felt a twinge of amusement.

“Relax, Raffaela,” he said as he knelt beside her. “I’ve seen women’s backsides before, and I’m not seeing nearly as much as I would if we were on a beach.”

She turned her head away from him, and as Micah’s gaze roamed down over her, his insides clenched. He drew a deep breath. He had seen plenty of women’s legs and bottoms. And he had been on plenty of beaches, but the long shapely legs stretched beside him now made his pulse jump. And even though her bottom was covered completely with the tail of his shirt, his imagination was running riot.

The backs of her legs were covered with numerous small cuts, blue-black bruises and one ugly gash on her right thigh. The gash was deep and nasty and Micah thought legs and skin like hers should not have cuts and bruises. “You must have been out of the plane when it exploded and the pieces hit you,” he said, aware a hoarse note had come into his voice.

The girls came to stand on the other side of Raffaela and watch him. Sophie held Angelica’s hand as their wide eyes were fixed on Raffaela.

“Does it hurt?” Angelica asked, kneeling down beside Raffaela.

“Not much,” Raffaela answered brightly, and he knew she was lying through her teeth.

“Raffaela,” he said, hating what ought to be done, but knowing she would have a worse scar if he didn’t. “You have a gash here that needs stitches. I can spray something on it that will numb it slightly, but it will still hurt some if I take stitches. If I don’t, you’ll have more of a scar.”

She turned her head, twisting around and partially raising herself up on her elbows. The thick braid was over her shoulder, and suddenly he imagined her without his shirt, and with all that auburn hair tumbling loose. His mouth went dry, and he tried to focus on what she was saying. She frowned.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about your cut.” Now he was lying. “What did you just say to me?”

“Do you know how to stitch up a wound?”

“I’ve done it before.”

She nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey in my pack. Want a drink?”

She shook her head. “Just go on and get it done.” The tail of his shirt covered the top of the cut. “I have to move the shirt up slightly.”

“Do what you have to.”

Sophie knelt down beside Raffaela, and she turned away from him. “Mama, Aunt Rachel,” she said, promptly correcting herself, “do you want me to hold your hand? I’ll tell you a story, if you’d like,” she offered.

“You tell me a story, Sophie,” she answered.

Micah paused when Sophie used both Mama and Aunt Rachel. Was there a possibility this wasn’t Raffaela? He thought it was more likely that Sophie was confused. This woman wasn’t shy. His throbbing head attested to that. And even though she had removed her wedding rings, she wore the ruby pendant.

Returning his attention to Raffaela, Micah scooted the shirt higher and felt sweat pop out on his forehead. It was steamy hot in the forest, but he knew that wasn’t what was causing his temperature to jump. It was sexy as hell to have this woman stretched out beside him, wearing only his shirt and her underclothes.

He tried to focus on her injuries. He didn’t want to hurt her. When he had taken stitches before, it had been in tough men who had been fighting with him. Not in a beautiful woman with the longest, shapeliest pair of legs he had ever had the privilege to touch.

Silently swearing, he went to work. He saw her fingers clench, but she was quiet. The woman was gutsy. He had to touch her thigh to hold the edges of the cut together. His fingers moved deftly on her smooth, warm skin, and all the time he was too aware of where his hands were. Finally he finished bandaging the large gash and then began to disinfect the smaller ones.

“You hurt?” Angelica asked in her high voice, bending down and looking at Raffaela.

“I’m all right, sweetie.”

“The worst is over,” he said. “Unless you have any more deep cuts beneath that shirt.” He tugged the shirttail down, aware every time his fingers brushed against the backs of her thighs.

She sat up carefully. She looked pale as she faced him.

“Okay?” he asked softly, hunkering down to be at her eye level. Her luminous eyes were deep pools of green that held his gaze.

“I’m okay.”

“Good.”

“You didn’t give her a kiss,” Sophie said solemnly. “You gave us a kiss.”

“You were a brave patient,” he said quietly, and squeezed Raffaela’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you kiss her?”

“Sophie, he doesn’t have to kiss everyone he takes care of,” Raffaela answered, her face flushing. “He just does that for little girls.”

“Why? You always say everyone needs a kiss, including grown-ups.”

Amused. Micah caught her chin with his finger and turned her face to him. He leaned forward and brushed the faintest kiss on her cheek. “You were a fine patient.” He winked at her and then looked beyond her at Sophie. “Now, I have kissed all my patients.”

The girls smiled and moved away while he stood and reached down to pull Raffaela to her feet. She grimaced as she stood.

“Maybe I should have explained to them that their daddy wouldn’t like me kissing Mommy,” he said, knowing he should leave it alone, but unable to resist.

“They’ve forgotten about it now. If you had said that, they would be full of questions.”

“Hurt?” he asked, aware he stood too close, knowing he should put space between them. He released her at once, but he wanted to keep holding her arm and touching her.

Without looking at him, she nodded. “Thanks.” Her gaze was everywhere except meeting his.

“Now I’ll turn around. You tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll disinfect the cuts on your back.”

The pink returned to her cheeks and she nodded, shooting a worried glance at him, and he felt his body tighten. She was aware of the tension snapping between them as much as he was. She is the married twin, he reminded himself, wondering if he was going to have to tell himself that every few minutes until they reached civilization.

He turned and waited, his imagination promptly running wild, envisioning her shedding his shirt. He inhaled and tried to shift his thoughts, listening to sounds around them. An army of men could have slipped up on him a few minutes ago, and he’d been so lost looking into her big green eyes that he wouldn’t have heard them until too late.

“All right,” she said quietly.

He turned and his pulse jumped. She was seated with her legs straight out in front of her. She wore her slacks again, and she held his shirt beneath her arms and in front of her, leaving her back bare. She was slender, her bones looked delicate, and he inhaled, his body reacting to the sight of her.

Trying to get himself under control, he moved closer, his gaze drifting down to her waist where the deepest cut disappeared beneath her slacks. Cuts were dark lines across her back, but none were deep enough to require stitches or as bad as the gash on the back of her thigh.

His gaze ran over her, and he leaned closer, noticing where her hair was matted with blood. “You’ve had a blow to your head. I’ll try to be gentle, but I think I should look at it.”

“Will you please unfasten this necklace? I’ll put it in my bag.”

He caught the delicate clasp in his fingers, his knuckles brushing her nape lightly. He inhaled, wondering why he was having reactions to every tiny contact with her.

The necklace came loose, and he dropped it into her open palm. His fingers brushed her neck as he moved his hand.

She sat quietly while he looked at the cut and disinfected it. She had a bump on her head, and he tried to avoid hurting her.

“Now your back.” He began to disinfect and clean her wounds, working silently, too aware of the bare nape of her neck—pale and smooth.

He swore, and she slanted him a glance over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I just hate hurting you,” he lied. He had not had this reaction to a woman since Shawna’s death a year and a half ago. And this was a damn poor time to come back to life. He had been numb and hurting over her loss for so long now, it had seemed to be a permanent way of life.

He was on his knees, and he sat back on his heels. “Why don’t you stretch out? You have a cut below your waist that I should disinfect.”

“Can I do it?” she asked, turning slightly, her cheeks flushing a fiery pink this time.

“I don’t think so. Look, I’m not making a play. We can’t travel if you get infected. Out here in this jungle and heat, you can get all kinds of things.”

She nodded and moved cautiously. He didn’t know whether she was being so careful because of her thigh or because she was trying to ensure that his shirt did not slip. She unfastened her slacks and then lay down on her stomach carefully. “I’m ready.”

He took a deep breath and tugged her slacks down as far as the cut went. And it went down over the small of her back across the rise of her bottom. He gritted his teeth. His body was reacting swiftly, and he couldn’t take his gaze from her and had to fight the idiotic urge to let his hand drift over her smooth skin. He ached to push those slacks down and bare the rest of her enticing bottom. As he looked at her, he wanted to sink himself into her softness.

Swearing silently, he worked quickly and stood. “I’m through.” His voice was hoarse, and he turned, walking away from her and trying to get his body under control.

“Thank you,” she said after a few moments. He glanced over his shoulder at her and then walked back. Moments later, she was dressed again and held out his shirt. He accepted it, his fingers brushing hers lightly.

“What about your head?” she asked.

“It’s all right.”

“I remember something to the effect that cuts can get infected easily here, in this climate.”

He sighed and unfastened the handkerchief. He was cut and had a lump that was turning a dark blue. She inhaled, swamped with regret. “I’m sorry! You have a big knot—”

“Forget it.” He grinned. Her breath caught in her throat as the smile transformed him from a formidable warrior into a charming male, and again she felt a strange stirring of awareness. He said she was married—if so, why was she having this reaction to Micah Drake? “You pack a mean wallop,” he said.

“I thought you were with those men. I didn’t know.”

He chuckled. “You got one of them full force. His head is probably about to come off about now. I’ve got a hard head.”

“I can well imagine,” she answered with amusement, and saw his brow arch. “You’re too tall. Sit down somewhere so I can reach your head.”

He handed her the first-aid kit and sat on the ground. She knelt beside him and began cleaning the wound. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

“Don’t apologize. That was gutsy to lead into a guy with a gun. Three guys with guns actually. Ouch!”

“Sorry.”

He turned to look at her, and the moment shifted and changed, tension sparking between them. She reached down to touch his jaw lightly, aware of each tactile sensation that should have been insignificant because they were slight. The bristles on his jaw prickled her fingertip mildly. His skin was warm. He was close, so close, his dark eyes taking her breath. She tingled, the reaction stirring a warmth in her body. She turned his face away from her and continued working on the cut.

She bandaged it and braced her hand on his shoulder as she stood up. He came to his feet easily and took the first-aid kit from her. “Thanks. Can you keep going?”

“Yes,” she answered, shouldering her bag.

He took it from her. “I can carry that bag better than you can. You should have told me about your injuries. You have a lot of bruises.”

“I figure we’re lucky to be alive.”

He nodded and swung his pack on his back along with his rifle. “Angelica, let me carry you,” he said, lifting her up in his arms.

“Do you have a little girl?” Sophie asked him from behind.

“No, I don’t. I don’t have a little boy, either.” He glanced back at Raffaela. “Let me know when you have to stop.”

She nodded and held Sophie’s hand as he led the way.

Raffaela followed him doggedly, knowing he wasn’t keeping as fast a pace as he had earlier. Even so, she hurt with each step, although her headache had eased slightly after taking the pill. After a time he looked back at her. “All right?”

“Yes,” she answered, and he nodded.

“If you can keep going for another hour, I’d like to. We need to find a stream.” He studied her a moment, and she gazed back. He looked powerful and determined which should have been reassuring, but instead was disturbing.

When he moved ahead, she followed, wondering how he had found them in this wild land and how he knew where he was going. The thick canopy of leaves hid the sun, and she had lost all sense of direction.

When necessary, Micah hacked a path for them, moving steadily west. He figured the men who had approached Raffaela had to be close to a village or a guerrilla band and he didn’t want them to come back with reinforcements. The pretty lady would be an inducement, and he had seen the covetous gleam in their eyes as they’d looked at his automatic weapons.

Raffaela Granillo hadn’t looked exactly like her picture, but Micah chalked that up to the lack of makeup, days in the jungle, and going through a plane crash. The little girls resembled their pictures, though. But what had happened to the bodyguard?

Micah glanced over his shoulder. Raffaela was following him, alternately carrying Sophie and then letting her walk. At least some of the distrust had faded from her eyes since they had stopped. He had slowed his pace, and they seemed to be keeping up. He knew he was pushing them by the grim set to Raffaela’s face. Better to exhaust them trekking through the brush than to have to fight off ten or twenty lust-filled men.

Raffaela looked slender and frail, and he had formed an unfair judgment of the Webster women from Luke, thinking he had to rescue two spoiled darlings. After trekking hours with her, he was changing his mind. She was keeping up without complaint, even though he knew she was exhausted, grieving the loss of her sister, hungry and hurting badly. He felt a growing admiration, knowing she was doing as well as many soldiers he had known.

Finally Micah halted and turned, swinging Angelica down to set her on her feet. “We’ll stop for the night. There’s a couple of hours left before dark.”

“Thank heavens!” Raffaela exclaimed, bending down to talk to the girls.

“I want my bottle!” Angelica exclaimed, bursting into tears, and Raffaela pulled the child into her arms to hug her.

“This is the last can of formula. Angelica, this will be the last bottle.”

“Mama! Carry me. Carry me,” Sophie suddenly sobbed. Both girls were wailing loudly enough to stir birds from the lower branches. They wanted Raffaela to hold them, and he felt a sense of panic at what to do to calm the children.

Raffaela sat down and pulled the girls into her arms, hugging and rocking them as she talked softly to them. Her gaze met his, and they stared at each other. Doubt rose in his mind as he remembered Luke staring out the window, sounding as if he had almost forgotten Micah’s presence as he said, “It’s Rachel who’s the real mother. She’s the one the girls run to. Unfortunately Raffaela doesn’t give a damn about children, not even her own.”

If he was with Raffaela Granillo, she was handling the girls with love and tenderness. They were becoming calm as she petted them.

“I want my bottle,” Angelica cried.

“Shh, love. One last bottle and then we’ll just have bananas and water now,” Raffaela said, meeting Micah Drake’s gaze again. He swung his pack off his back and knelt beside it. The fatigue trousers pulled tautly over his long legs as he rummaged in the pack and pulled out packets of food. He snapped covers off and held them out. “I imagine this will look good right now.”

“Angelica, Sophie, look.” Her hands shook as she reached for the packets, finding a treasure of dried beef, crackers, cheese and dried apples.

Micah put water purifier tablets into a canteen, filled it with water from the stream and passed it around. “This is a feast,” she said with relief.

While they ate, Micah watched Raffaela out of the corner of his eye. She was nervous, which could be her nature or the circumstances, but for someone who had been rescued, she wasn’t swamped with relief. And where was the bodyguard? Something wasn’t right, and he had sensed it before her strange answer to him that they would talk later. Something had happened that she didn’t want to discuss in front of her children.

“Mama, I want to go home,” Angelica cried and rubbed her eyes with her fists.

“We’re trying to go home,” Raffaela said patiently. “Mr. Drake is going to get us back.” She poured the last can of formula and handed the bottle to Angelica.

“There’s a stream nearby. We’ll go wash and then come back here to sleep,” Micah said.

“Why don’t we sleep by the stream?” Raffaela asked.

“It’ll be a watering hole at night. This is safer.”

She nodded, picked up Angelica and took Sophie’s hand to follow him. Only yards away she spotted water trickling over a narrow streambed. With relief she washed her face and washed the girls’ faces and hands. Micah Drake left them alone for nearly an hour and finally returned. His dark hair was wet, pulled sleekly back and tied behind his head. His shirt was open to the waist and Raffaela looked at the narrow expanse of muscled chest. Realizing she was staring, she glanced up to find him watching her.

She straightened and turned, stumbling when her foot caught in a tree root. Instantly strong hands steadied her, and Micah was at her side. Only inches from him, she looked into his dark eyes.

“Thanks,” she whispered, her pulse skittering. He looked tough, unapproachable, yet her skin tingled with a strange awareness of him.

When they returned to their campsite, he pulled a bedroll from his backpack, spreading it for the girls, covering them with mosquito netting. Within minutes they were asleep, Angelica with her thumb in her mouth and Sophie curled into a ball. He handed the square of canvas to Raffaela and she spread it, sitting and leaning against a palm.

He placed the rifle where he could reach it and sat on the damp ground, crossing his legs while he settled a few feet from Raffaela. She met his gaze with wide green eyes. Briefly Micah wondered about her husband. The Bolivian industrialist was a fortunate man. Micah knew if his family had crashed in a Central American jungle, he would have flown home from a business engagement. The father and brother had come forth, ready to do whatever they could, but the husband was strangely absent from the arrangements Luke Webster had made with Micah. Were relations less than good between Raffaela and her husband?

“Now we talk. I have some questions,” Micah said. “What happened to Burr Brogan? And why aren’t you wearing your wedding rings?”

“I regained consciousness with the plane burning and the girls clinging to me and crying,” she said quietly, looking more worried by the minute, and he wondered what had happened back there at the site of the crash. “I don’t know a Burr Brogan and there was no one around but the three of us.”

“I have a passenger list,” he said impatiently. “Burr Brogan, the Granillo bodyguard, and Jose Escajedo, the Granillo pilot, were on that plane. I found Jose Escajedo’s remains.”

She flinched slightly and bit her lip, looking at her hands and touching her fingers as if realizing she should be wearing rings. When she looked up, he felt his stomach tighten, and a gut feeling swamped him that something was terribly wrong.

“You called me Raffaela Granillo,” she said.

“Aren’t you? Was that Rachel or Raffaela who died in the crash? Which one are you?”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Two

Stunned, Micah looked at her and swore softly under his breath. “You still have a bump on the back of your head from a blow you must have received in the crash. Have you had headaches since the crash?”

“Yes. They were blinding at first.”

“I assumed you’re Raffaela Granillo, the married twin.”

“The woman who died was my twin sister?” she asked in a tight voice. “Do I look like her?”

“Exactly.”

She closed her eyes, and Micah reached out to grasp her shoulder, wondering if she was going to faint. The moment his hand closed over her, her eyes flew open. As she gazed up at him, he leaned closer. Her lips parted. There was still daylight, and he gazed into the cool depths of frightened green eyes. He saw the moment she became aware of him as a man. Her eyes widened and pink suffused her cheeks. He felt a stirring of want, looking again at her mouth. Her lips were full and curved, and he wondered if they were as soft as they appeared.

Annoyed with himself and struggling for control of his impulses, he met her gaze. “Are you all right?” His voice was husky, and his fingers closed a little tighter on her shoulder. Her bones felt delicate beneath his hand, a contact that he didn’t want to end.

“Yes, I’m okay. I was just surprised by what you told me,” she said in a small, breathless voice that revealed she was having as much reaction as he.

He told himself to move away from her, yet he sat there staring at her while she gazed back with a strange searching look in her eyes. As if drawn by an unseen force, he leaned closer. Then he realized what he had just done and scooted away from her.

“When you’re with your husband and family, it will come back to you,” he said gruffly, swearing silently at himself. He remembered Luke saying she cheated on her husband, and he felt a stir of contempt. He might be old-fashioned in her circle, but he thought wedding vows were forever. She was a beautiful woman who drew men like bees to pollen, and his reaction was normal. He told himself that, but he didn’t believe it. He had been around beautiful women since Shawna died and he hadn’t had the reaction he was having to Raffaela Granillo.

“I can’t recall anything that’s happened. I remember the girls. I couldn’t remember their names until they told me. Angelica calls me Mama and Sophie calls me Mama or Aunt, but as time goes by, she’s addressing me as Aunt Rachel less often.”

He frowned, studying her. The three-year-old would be more likely to know her own mother, yet in the chaos of the crash, and with mother and aunt being twins, the child could be confused. He had heard Sophie call her Mama more than once since he had been with them. Was he rescuing Hector Granillo’s wife or Hector’s unmarried sister-in-law?

Micah slammed shut that line of questioning. He knew he had damned well better assume he had the wife and mother with him. Certainly there had been a flare of lust or attraction pass between them, but he didn’t want any complications with a married woman who was the mother of two little girls. If she was Rachel, the single nanny, he could deal with that when he was back in Texas. But for now, out here in the wild, he was going to assume he had Raffaela Granillo, the married one.

He glanced at the bag she carried. It was resting on the ground near his backpack. “Don’t you have identification and pictures in your purse?”

She shook her head. “That’s the bag with the girls’ things. After I regained consciousness, I gathered what I could find that I thought we might need, but I didn’t find any identification for anyone.”

He curbed the impulse to swear. She looked worried and uncertain enough without him adding to the problem. “Do you know why neither you nor your twin is wearing any jewelry besides the necklace you had on?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember jewelry. I can’t remember my name or my home or my family.” She looked stricken, and he heard the thread of fear in her voice. “If I’m the mother of the girls, I don’t remember their father. I don’t remember a husband.”

He wanted to groan as he stared at her. Her skin was flawless, her throat slender. Tendrils of auburn hair had escaped her braid, and he battled the urge to tuck one behind her ear. “Usually amnesia doesn’t last long,” he said, realizing hers had already lasted longer than usual. “I think we should assume you’re Raffaela Webster Granillo, mother of Angelica and Sophie.”

“Raffaela Webster Granillo,” she said frowning.

“Your father is Atlee Webster. He has an oil company in Houston, Texas. I’m a friend of your brother, Luke.”

“Why am I in this jungle? Where were we going?”

“If you’re Raffaela, you’re married to Hector Granillo. He has tin mines and one of the largest textile plants in Bolivia. Your sister Rachel was not married and she was nanny for your two girls, so she was traveling back to La Paz, Bolivia, with you.”

“How long have I been married?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have details of your marriage. Your brother hired me to try to rescue any survivors. He didn’t give me your past history.”

“If you’re good friends with my brother, you should have been a guest at my wedding,” she said, giving him a wary look.

He shook his head. “We were army buddies. After we got out of the military, we occasionally ran into each other because we both settled in Houston. That’s all. He came to me for this job because he knew what kind of business I’m in.”

Feeling a mounting sense of panic, Raffaela could not dredge up any memories of family or husband. The only reason she knew the girls was because they were there with her, but she couldn’t recall their births or babyhood. The woman she had covered with branches and leaves had been her twin sister. It disturbed her to be unable to feel the loss.

Micah Drake reached out to tuck stray hairs behind her ear. When his warm hand brushed her skin, she looked at him. He was rugged, handsome. His dark eyes studied her with curiosity, and beneath his gaze she felt her pulse jump. What was there about the man that was so disturbing, when he was doing nothing more than looking at her? For a moment she had thought he was going to lean down and kiss her. And, heaven help her, she had wanted him to. Upset by her reaction to Micah, she struggled to conjure up memories of a husband or home.

She didn’t remember being a mother, yet she knew she loved the little girls. It felt natural and right to be with them. Sophie addressed her as Aunt and Mama. Sophie should know, yet even she didn’t seem certain.

If amnesia usually cleared up swiftly, she would have her answers soon.

“Sophie is old enough to talk and tell you some things. Has she mentioned a man who traveled with you?”

Raffaela shook her head, worry returning about Sophie. She glanced at the sleeping child who looked serene. “The day of the crash she was hysterical. I don’t know whether it was from the crash or the plane burning or the loss of her aunt. Or her mother. You heard her today when she started crying and holding out her arms to me.”

“Yes, she called you Mama when she did.”

“She might have been calling for her mama and reaching for me,” she replied solemnly. “How long will it take to get back to civilization?”

He shook his head. “Too many variables to predict. We’ll follow the stream tomorrow and look for a village. The rivers and streams are highways in this jungle. They flow to the ocean, so we just keep following them. When we arrive in a town, I can get us out of here. This country has revolutionaries who are fighting. I want to avoid them. They won’t care who we are or why we’re here.”

Suddenly aware of the wild country around them, she rubbed her arms.

“You didn’t head in the best direction when you left the crash scene, but we’ll be safe when we reach any sizable town,” Micah remarked, knowing he was frightening her. But she needed to know what the dangers were.

Her teeth caught her lower lip. “I couldn’t decide whether to stay with the plane in case someone searched for us, or try to get to a village. It seemed wiser to try to get to a village.”

He nodded. “I would have done the same,” he admitted, although if she had stayed at the crash site, he would have been able to get her out more quickly.

“My sister died in that crash, and I didn’t even know she was my twin,” Raffaela remarked with regret.

“It’ll come back to you.”

She studied him with curiosity in her eyes. “You do this for a living?”

“That’s right.”

“It must be terribly hard on your wife.”

“I’m not married now,” he said stiffly, wondering how long he would still feel pain, answering questions about Shawna.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Forget it,” he answered perfunctorily, his mind on the plane crash. “You sure you don’t remember a man who survived the crash?”

“No. I never saw anyone except the two girls. When I regained consciousness, the plane was burning and the girls were clinging to me and crying. Before that time, I’m blank.”

Micah rubbed the back of his neck while he thought about the crash. “There was a man with you, Burr Brogan, the Granillo bodyguard.”

“Why did they need a bodyguard?”

“Your husband, as well as your father, is enormously wealthy. Particularly your husband. You should have on more carats than a jewelry shop window display. I’m wondering where all the jewels are.”

“I had my sister for a nanny and I have a bodyguard?” She sounded as if she was having difficulty accepting the facts.

Barely hearing her question, Micah wondered about Brogan. The man was an ex-cop. He was supposed to be one of the good guys, on the side of law and order. And he should know better than to take the rocks and expect to get away with it. Yet Raffaela had a bad blow on the back of the head. In the confusion of the crash, how easy it would have been to knock her unconscious and take the jewelry. Perhaps the sister was already dead, killed in the crash. Yet Brogan probably would have been better off trying to get them rescued and hope for a reward.

Why he had left the necklace behind was speculation, too. He could have been rushed or not cared about the ruby. Or he could have overlooked it because of her long hair.

Micah thought about Sophie again. Three-year-olds could be very bright, and Sophie didn’t have amnesia. “Sophie is old enough to tell you what happened. When you regained consciousness, did she say anything about the crash or Brogan?”

Raffaela frowned as she laced her fingers together. “As I said before, that first day the girls were hysterical. I quieted Angelica. Something frightened Sophie, but she wouldn’t tell me what. I found the woman’s body and both girls seemed torn, so I got them away and covered the body as best I could. I didn’t want to stay in that place. The girls were terrified and hurt—if the woman was my sister and their nanny, they loved her very much. But I may be the nanny. I remember Sophie screaming Mama over and over. After we began to walk and get away from there, they calmed. I didn’t ask her questions about what happened.” Raffaela glanced over her shoulder at the two httle girls. ”I don’t want to question her now. And I don’t want you to ask her. The bodyguard is gone. There’s nothing you can do about him. There’s nothing to gain by bringing back terrors to Sophie.”

“I won’t question her about it,” Micah promised, knowing it was best. He wouldn’t scare the child or dredge up bad memories, but Sophie might hold answers if they could get them from her. “There’s room for you with the girls,” he said, scooting to a tree to lean back against it and stretch out his legs.

She moved beside the children, and when he glanced at her again, his pulse jumped. She had unfastened the thick braid of hair and was combing her fingers through it. A cascade of auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders. She shook her head, brushing her hair back. It was a dark cloud around her head and he could imagine its silkiness. For an instant his gaze raked over her, and then he looked away.

Mrs. Raffaela Granillo. He was taking her home to her husband. And if there was a chance she was the unmarried twin—he reminded himself to wait until they were in Texas to even consider the possibility.

Night came swiftly, and his eyes adjusted. He stared into the darkness, listening to the screech of birds and night sounds, reassured by the noise around him that they were alone. He was far more concerned about rebels than wild animals or snakes.

He leaned back against the palm and closed his eyes, knowing he would only take catnaps until they reached safety. Pockets of rebel insurgents infested all this part of the land, and he wanted to avoid close encounters with any of them. If a band of the wrong kind of men found them, the lady was pretty enough to cause all kinds of trouble. She moved restlessly, and he studied her a moment. What was disturbing her sleep? The crash, the amnesia, the wilds?

Raffaela shifted. She lay on her stomach because her legs and back stung and hurt from the cuts and bruises. Staring into the night, she wished she could remember, trying to envision the husband in her background. With a hollow feeling she thought about her twin sister who had died in the crash. Mourning the loss of her sister would come when memory returned. Right now she felt numb and blank and had no memory of a sister. What she had was a vivid and intense recollection of Micah Drake’s fingers moving over her to give first aid. He had caused her pain, but she knew it had been unavoidable. The rest of the time, his hands were gentle. And she remembered that he was no longer married. He had answered her gruffly, so he must have bad memories.

He thought she was Raffaela, the married one. She didn’t feel married. But she guessed he was right. She knew without a doubt that she loved the little girls.

As she fell asleep, memories taunted her of Micah’s dark eyes.

In early morning Micah opened his eyes and glanced across their campsite. His heart missed a beat.

Raffaela was nowhere to be seen. He came to his feet swiftly, swinging the M-16 over his shoulder, dropping his hand to check the pistol on his hip. He looked around, wondering if she was answering a call of nature or if she had gone to the stream to wash. The only other choices were not good. He glanced at the girls who were both asleep. He hated to leave them alone, but the stream was only yards away.

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